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IN PRESS. 



THE ESPOUSALS. 



BY THE AUTHOR OF THIS VOLUME. 



t^ 



THE 



ANGEL IN THE HOUSE 



THE BETROTHAL 



Par la grace infinie, Diea les mist aa numde en?emble. 



BOSTON: 
TICK NOR AND FIELDS 

M.DCCC.lTli:. 



^a 






?^ 






^^^ 



^ Bequest ^ "^ 

Albert Adait Clemonfl 
Aug. 24, 1038 
(Ifpt available for ezoheuafire) 



7k'L\ 



THE WRITER OF THIS POEM 

iJnacrib^s it 

TO HIS DAUGHTER EMILY. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 
Prologue ii 

I. The Cathedral Close 19 

The Accompaniments. 

1. Love's Reality 21 

' 2. Love's Immortality 22 

3. The Poet's Confidence 23 

4. The Poet's Humility 24 

5. The Sentences 25 

Idyl I. The Cathedral Close 27 

II. Mary and Mildred 35 

The Accompaniments. 

.1. The Paragon 37 

2. The Sentences 43 

Idyl II. Mary and Mildred 45 

III. HoNORiA 51 

The Accompaniments. 

1. The Lover 53 

2. The Sentences 58 

Idyl III. Honoria 59 



viii Contents. 

Page 

IV. The Morning Call 65 

The Accompaniments. 

1. The Rose of the World 67 

2. The Tribute 70 

3. The Sentences 71 

Idyl IV. The Morning Call 73 

V. The Violets 77 

The Accompaniments. 

1. The Parallel 79 

2. The Sentences 84 

Idyl V. The Violets 85 

VI. The Dean 91 

The Accompaniments. 

1. Frost in Harvest 93 

2. Love Justified 95 

3. Perfect Love rare 96 

4. The Sentences 98 

Idyl VI. The Dean 99 

VII. -(Etna and the Moon ,.... 105 

The Accompaniments. 

1. The Queen 107 

2. The Sentences no 

Idyl VII. iEtna and the Moon m 

VIII. S ARUM Plain 117 

The Accompaniments. 



Contents, ix 

Page 

1. Present Good contemned 119 

2. The Revelation 120 

3. Love in Idleness 121 

4. The Tempest 122 

5. Love in Tears 123 

6. The Sentences 124 

Idyl VIII. Sarum Plain 125 

IX. The Railway 131 

The Accompaniments. 

1. The Miscreant 133 

2. The Wife's Tragedy 135 

3. The Sentences 137 

Idyl IX. The Railway 139 

X. Going to Church 145 

The Accompaniments. 

1. The Gracious Chivalry 147 

2. Love Liberal 150 

3. The Sentences 153 

Idyl X. Going to Church 155 



XL The Ball 163 

The Accompaniments. 

1. The Daughter of Eve 165 

2. The Sentences 169 

Idyl XL The Ball 171 



X Contents. 

Page 

XII. The Abdication 177 

The Accompaniments. 

1. The Chace 175 

2. The Sentences 185 

Idyl XII. The Abdication 187 

The Epilogue 155 



PROLOGUE. 



THE PROLOGUE. 

1^ yriNE is no winged horse to gain 
X ▼ A tt jj^g region of the spheral chime 
" He does but drag a rumbling wain, 

"Cheer'd by the silver bells of rhyme : 
" And if, at Fame's bewitching note, 

" My homely Pegasus pricks an ear, 
" The world's cart-collar hugs his throat, 

" And he's too wise to kick or rear." 
Thus ever answer'd Vaughan his wife. 

Who, more than he, desired his fame; 
But secretly his thoughts were rife 

How for her sake to earn a name. 



14 The Prologue. 

With College laurels three times crown'd, 

And other annual honours won, 
If he but chose to be renown'd, 

He might, he had little doubt, she none : 
And, in a loftier phrase, he talk'd 

With her upon their Wedding-Day, 
While thro' the new-mown meads they walk'd, 

Their children shouting by the way : 
" Not careless of the gift of song, 

" Nor out of love with noble fame, 
" I, meditating much and long 

" What I should sing, how win a name, 
" Considering well what theme unsung, 

" What reason worth the cost of rhyme, 
" Remains to loose the Poet's tongue 

" In these last days, the dregs of time, 
" Learn that to me, though born so late, 

" There does, beyond desert, befall 
" (May my great fortune make me great !) 

" The first of themes sung last of all. 



The Prologue, 15 

" In green and undiscover'd ground, 

" Yet near where many others sing, 
" I have the very well-head found 

" Whence gushes the Pierian Spring." 
Then she : " What is it, Dear? The Life 

" Of Arthur, or Jerusalem's Fall ? " 
" Neither : your gentle self, my wife, 

" Yourself, and love that's all in all. 
" And if I faithfully proclaim 

" Of these the exceeding worthiness, 
" Surely, the sweetest wreath of Fame 

" Shall, to your hope, my brows caress ; 
" And if, by virtue of my choice 

" Of the most bosom-touching theme 
" That ever tuned a poet's voice, 

" I live, as now I dare to dream, 
" To be delight to future days, 

" And into silence only cease 
"With those great Bards who shared their bays 

" With Laura and with Beatrice, 



i6 The Prologue. 

" Imagine, Love, how learned men 

" Will deep-conceived devices find, 
" Beyond the purpose and the ken 

" Of the old Poet's simple mind ! 
" You, Sweet, his Mistress, Wife, and Muse, 

" Were you for mortal Woman meant ? 
" Your praises give a hundred clues 

" To mythological intent ! 
" And, severing thus the truth from trope, 

" In you the Commentators see, 
" Some Faith, some Charity, some Hope, 

" Some, wiser, think you all the three. 
" I press your arm ! These are the meads 

" In which we pass our peaceful days ; 
" There Avon runs, now hid with reeds, 

" Now brightly brimming pebbly bays ; 
" Those are our children's songs that come 

" With bells and bleatings of the sheep ; 
" And there, in yonder happy home, 

*' We thrive on mortal food and sleep." 



The Prologue. 17 

She laugh'd. How proud she always was 

To see how proud he was of her ! 
Then, arguing high artistic laws, 

Long did they o'er the plan confer. 
'Twas fix'd, with much on both sides said, 

The Song should have no incidents, 
They are so dull, and pall, Dvice read : 

Its scope should be the heart's events : 
Their SaUsbur}-, for the verse unfit. 

They settled last should Sarum be ; 
And, not to wake their neighbours wit. 

He Felix, and Honoria she. 

His purpose with performance crown'd, 
To her, kind critic, he rehears'd. 

When next their Wedding-Day came round. 
His leisure's labour, " Book the First" 



I. 

THE CATHEDRAL CLOSE. 



THE ACCOMPANIMENTS. 



Love's Reality, 

T WALK, I trust, with open eyes : 
'^ I've travell'd half my worldly course ; 
And in the way behind me lies 

Much vanity and some remorse ; 
I've lived to feel how pride may part 

Spirits tho' match'd like hand and glove ; 
I've blush'd for love's abode, the heart, 

But have not disbelieved in love ; 
And love is my reward ; for now. 

When most of deadening time complain. 
The myrtle is green upon my brow, 

Its odour sweet within my brain. 



22 The Accompaniments. 

II. 

Love's Immortality. 

TTOW vilely 'twere to misdeserve 
^ -*• The Poet's gift of perfect speech, 
In song to explore, with trembling nerve, 

The limit of its utmost reach. 
Only to sound the unworthy praise 

Of what to-morrow shall not be ; 
So mocking with immortal bays 

The cross-bones of mortality ! 
I do not thus. My faith is fast 

That all the loveliness I sing 
Is made to outsleep the mortal blast, 

And blossom in a better Spring. 
My creed declares the ceaseless pact 

Of body and spirit, soul and sense ; 
Nor can my faith accept the fact, 

And fly the various consequence. 



The Accompaniments, 23 

III. 

'The Poefs Confidence, 

'T^HE richest realm of all the Earth 
"^ Is counted still a heathen Land : 
Lo, I, like Joshua, now go forth 

To give it into Israel's hand. 
I've girt myself with thought and prayer, 

And am endow'd with strength, like him, 
Beyond my own, and will not fear 

The false and foolish Anakim ; 
Nor will I hearken blame or praise ; 

For so should I dishonour do 
To that sweet Power by which these Lays 

Alone are lovely, good and true; 
Nor credence to the world's cries give. 

Which ever preach and still prevent • 
Pure passion's high prerogative 

To make not follow precedent. 



24 The Accompaniments. 



IV. 

T!he Poet's Humility. 

"V TOR verse, nor art, nor plot, nor plan, 
"^ Nor aught of mine here's worth a toy 
Quit praise and blame, and, if you can. 

Do, Critic, for the nonce, enjoy. 
Moving but as the feelings move, 

I run, or loiter with delight. 
Or stop to mark where gentle Love 

Persuades the soul from height to height. 
Yet, know, that, though my words are gay 

As David's dance, which Michal scorn'd, 
16 rightly you peruse the Lay, 

You shall be sweetly help'd and warn'd. 



The Accompaniments, 25 



T^he Sentences. 

1. 

LOVE, kiss'd by Wisdom, wakes twice 
Love, 
And Wisdom is, through loving, wise : 
Let Dove and Snake, and Snake and Dove, 
This Wisdom's be, that Love's device. 

2. 
'Tis truth (although this truth's a star 

Too deep-enskied for all to see). 
As Poets of grammar. Lovers are 

The well-heads of morality. 



26 The Accompaniments. 

3- 
"Keep measure in love?" More light befall 

Thy sanctity, and make it less ! 

Be sure I will not love at all 

Where I may not love with excess. 



THE BETROTHAL. 

IDYL I. 

THE CATHEDRAL CLOSE. 

1. 

/^NCE more I came to Sanim Close, 
^^ With joy half memory half desire, 
And breathed the sumiy wind that rose 

And blew the shadows o'er the Spire, 
And toss'd the lilac's scented plumes, 

And sway'd the chestnut's thousand cones, 



28 The Cathedral Close. 

And fill'd my nostrils with perfumes, 

And shaped the clouds in waifs and zones, 

And wafted down the serious strain 
Of Sarum bells, when, true to time, 

I reach'd the Dean's with heart and brain 
That trembled to the trembling chime. 

2. 

'Twas half my home six years ago : 

The six years had not alter'd it : 
Red-brick and ashlar, long and low, 

With dormers and with oriels lit; 
Geranium, lychnis, rose array'd 

The windows, all wide open thrown ; 
And some one in the Study play'd 

The Wedding-March of Mendelssohn. 
And there it was I last took leave : 

'Twas Christmas : I remember'd now 
The cruel girls, who feign'd to grieve, 

Took all the Christmas down ; and how 



The Cathedral Close. 29 

The laurel into blazes woke 

The fire, lighting the large, low room, 
A dim, rich lustre of old oak 

And crimson velvet's glowing gloom. 

3- 

No change had touch'd my Guardian. Kind, 

By widowhood more than winters bent. 
And settled in a cheerful mind, 

As still foreboding heaven's content 
Well might he mourn, from her delay'd ! 

I yet recall'd her air, her walk, 
Her laugh, mere love ; in all she said, 

I heard a peaceful seraph talk. 
She seem'd expressly sent below 

To teach our erring minds to see 
The rhythmic change of time's swift flow 

As part of calm eternity. 
Her life, all honour, observed, with awe 

Which cross experience could not mar, 



30 The Cathedral Close, 

The fiction of the Christian Law 

That all men honourable are ; 
And so her smile seem'd to confer 

At once high flattery and reproof, 
And self-regard, inspired by her. 

Grew courtly in its own behoof. 
The years, so far from doing her wrong. 

Anointed her with gracious balm. 
And made her brows more and more young 

With wreaths of amaranth and palm. 

4- 
Was this her eldest, Honor, the prude 

Who would not let me pull the swing ; 
Who, kiss'd at Christmas, call'd me rude. 

And sobb'd alone, and would not sing ? 
How changed ! In shape no more a Grace, 

But Venus : milder than the dove : 
Her mother's air ; her Norman face ; 

Her large sweet eyes, clear lakes of love. 



The Cathedral Close, 31 

Mary I knew. In former time 

Ailing and pale, she thought that bliss 
Was only for a better cHme, 

And, heavenly overmuch, scorn'd this. 
I, rash with theories of the right, 

Which stretch'd the tether of my Creed, 
But did not break it, held delight 

Half discipline. We disagreed. 
She told the Dean I wanted grace. 

Now she was kindest of the three, 
And two wild roses deck'd her face. 

And, what, was this my Mildred, she 
To herself and all a sweet surprise ? 
- My Pet, who romp'd and roll'd a hoop ? 
I wonder'd where those daisy eyes 

Had found their touching curve and droop. 

5- 

Unmannerly times ! But now we sat 

Stranger than strangers ; till I caught 



3^ The Cathedral Close, 

And answer'd Mildred's smile ; and that 

Spread to the rest, and freedom brought. 
The Dean talk'd little, but look'd on, 

Of three such daughters justly vain : 
What letters they had had from Bonn ! 

Said Mildred ; and I told again 
How the Bonn boys besieged the house, 

In fury metaphysical, 
Because I'd proved their Doctor Strauss 

A myth, and not a man at all. 
By Honor I was kindly task'd 

To explain my never coming down, 
'Twixt terms, from Cambridge ; Mary ask'd 

Were Kant and Goethe yet outgrown % 
And, pleased, we talk'd the old days o'er ; 

And, parting, I for pleasure sigh'd. 
To be there as a friend, (since more,) 

Seem'd then, seems still, excuse for pride ; 
For something that abode endued 

With temple-like repose, an air 



The Cathedral Close, 33 

Oi life's kind purposes pursued 

With order'd freedom sweet and fair. 
A tent pitched in a world not right 

It seem'd, whose inmates, every one, 
On tranquil faces bore the light 

Of duties beautifully done. 
And humbly, though they had few peers, 

Kept their own laws, which seem'd to be 
The fair sum of six thousand years' 

Traditions of civility. 



II. 

MARY AND MILDRED. 



THE ACCOMPANIMENTS. 

I. 

^he Paragon. 

I. 
T T rHEN I behold the reckless brook 

^ * That casts itself from some tall crag, 
Leaving its shade along the rock, 

And wavering lower, like a flag ; 
When I behold the skies aloft. 

Passing the pageantry of dreams ; 
The cloud whose bosom, cygnet-soft, 

A couch for nuptial Juno seems ; 
When I behold the mountains bright ; 

The shadowy vales with feeding herds, . 



38 The Accompaniments, 

I from my lyre the music smite, 

Nor want for justly matching words : 
All powers of the sea and air ; 

All interests of hill and plain, 
I so can sing, in seasons fair. 

That who hath felt may feel again ; 
Nay more, the gracious Muses bless 

At times my tongue until I can. 
With moving emphasis, express 

The likeness of the perfect man. 
Elated oft by such free songs, 

I think with utterance free to raise 
That Hymn for which the whole world longs, 

A worthy Hymn in Woman's praise ; 
A Hymn bright-noted like a bird's, 

Arousing these song-sleepy times 
With rhapsodies of perfect words. 

Ruled by returning kiss of rhymes. 
But when I look on her and hope 

To tell with joy what I admire. 



Tlie Accompanvnents. 39 

My thoughts lie cramp'd in narrow scope, 

Or in the feeble birth expire : 
No skill'd complexity of speech, 

No heart-felt phrase of tenderest fail. 
No liken'd excellence can reach 

Her, the most excellent of all, 
The best half of creation's best, 

Its heart to feel, its eye to see, 
The crown and complex of the rest, 

Its aim and its epitome. 
Nay, might I utter my conceit, 

'Twere after all a vulgar song, 
For she's so simply, subtly sweet, 

My deepest rapture does her ^Tong ; 
My thoughts, that, singing, lark-like soar, 

Soaring perceive they've still misprized. 
And still forebode her beauty more 

Than can perceived be, or surmised. 
Yet is it now my chosen task 

To sing her worth as Maid and Wife ; 



40 The Accompaniments. 

And were such post to seek I'd ask 

To live her Laureate all my life. 
On wings of love uplifted free, 

And by her gentleness made great, 
I'd teach how noble man should be 

To match with such a lovely mate : 
And then in her would move the more 

The woman's wish to be desired, 
(By praise increased,) till both should soar, 

With blissful emulations fired. 
And, as geranium, pink, or rose 

Is thrice itself through power of art, 
So might my happy skill disclose 

New fairness even in her fair heart ; 
Until that churl should nowhere be 

Who bent not, awed, before the throne 
Of her affecting majesty, 

So meek, so much unlike our own ; 
Until (for who may hope too much 

From her who wields the powers of love !) 



The Accompaniments. 41 

Our lifted lives at last should touch 
That lofty goal to which they move ; 

Until we find, as darkness rolls 
Far off, and fleshly mists dissolve, 

That nuptial contrasts are the poles 
On which the heavenly spheres revolve. 

2. 

Me to these happy notes of praise 

Not only Woman's graces stir : 
Myself I never seem to raise 

So much as when I honour her : 
For while my songs so various run, 

There lives before my constant mind 
An image, time-endear'd, of one 

Who is to me all womankind : 
Honoria call her : She confers 

Bright honour when she breathes my name : 
Birth's blazon'd patents, shown with her's, 

Are falsified and put to shame ; 



42 The Accompaniments, 

The fount of honour is her smile ; 

(I speak but as I feel and think,) 
Yet pride consumes me not the while 

I thence, with thirst unsated, drink : 
For as a Queen, who may not find 

Her peer in all the common Earth, 
Submits her meek and royal mind, 

Espousing one of subject birth, 
All barter of like gain above, 

She raised me to her noble place. 
And made my lordship of her love 

The humbling gift of her free grace. 



The Accompaniments, 43 

II. 

^Tbe Sentences. 

1. 
T^EAUTY S bu:desh and blood. Sir: fye! 
^^ •• Read here : immortal beauty diink ! " 
Jus: vN-^: I -J list for;" I reply, 
" But whaf s this % Rags and Printer's ink ! " 



He hates not Day whose grateful si^t 
Adores the Sun's reflected power. 

But loves acceptably the Light, 
Loving its colours in the flower. 



K 



IDYL II. 

MARY AND MILDRED. 

1. 

/^NE morning, after Church, I walk'd 
^^ Alone with Mary on the Lawn, 
And felt myself, howe'er we talk'd, 

To high thoughts delicately drawn ; 
And, when she, gladden'd, found I knew 

More of her peace than she'd supposed, 
Our confidences heavenwards blew. 

Like fox-glove buds, in pairs disclosed. 
Our former faults did we confess ; 

Our ancient feud was more than heal'd ; 



46 Mary and Mildred, 

And, with the woman's eagerness 

For amity full sign'd and seal'd, 
She, offering up for sacrifice 

Her heart's reserve, brought out to show 
Some verses, made when she was ice 

To all but Heaven, six years ago : 
Since happier grown. I took and read 

The neat-writ lines. She, void of guile, 
Too late repenting, blush'd, and said, 

I must not think about the style. 

2. 
" Day after day, until to-day, 

Imaged its fellows gone before. 
The same dull task, the weary way. 

The weakness pardon'd o'er and o'er. 

The thwarted thirst, too faintly felt. 
For joy's well-nigh forgotten life, • 

The impatient heart, which, when I knelt, 
Made of my worship barren strife. 



Ma?y ajid Mildred, 47 

Ah, whence to-day's so sweet release ; 
• 
This clearance light of all my care ; 

This conscience free, this fertile peace, 

These softly folded wings of prayer ; 

This calm and more than conquering love, 
With which the tempter dares not cope ; 

This joy that lifts no glance above. 
For faith too sure, too sweet for hope. 

O, happy time, too happy change, 
It will not live, though fondly nurst ! 

Sweet Day, which soon will seem as strange 
As now the Night which seems dispersed, 

Adieu ! But, while my heart is warm'd, 
Some heavenly promise let me make : 

Strong are those vows and well performed 
Which, at such times, we undertake." 



48 Mary and Mildred. 



3- 

She from a rose-tree shook the blight : 

And well she knew that I knew well 
Her grace with silence to requite ; 

And so we obey'd the luncheon-bell. 
We laugh'd at Mildred's laugh, which made 

All melancholy wrong : its mood 
Such sweet self-confidence display'd, 

So full a sense of present good. 
Her very faults my fancy fired ; 

My loving will, so thwarted, grew ; 
And, bent on worship, I admired 

All that she was, with partial view. 
And yet, when, as to-day, her smile 

Was prettiest, I could not but note 
How Honor, less admired, the while 

Was lovelier, though from love remote. 



Mary and Mildred, 49 



4- 
We who are married, let us own 

A bachelor's chief thought in life 
Is, or the fool's not worth a groan, 

To win a woman for his wife. 
I kept the custom. I confess 

I never went to Ball or Fete 
Or Show, but in pursuit express 

Of my predestinated mate ; 
And still to me, who still kept sight 

Of the sweet chance upon the cards, 
Each Beauty blossom'd in the light 

Of tender personal regards ; 
And, in the records of my breast, 

Red-letter'd, eminently fair, 
Stood sixteen, who, beyond the rest. 

Up to that time had been my care : 
At Berlin three, one at St. Cloud, 

At Chatteris, near Cambridge, one, 

4 



50 Mary and Mildred, 

At Ely four, in London two, 
Two at Bowness, in Paris none. 

And, last and best, in Sarum three : 
But dearest of the whole fair troop. 

In judgment of the moment, she 

Whose daisy eyes had learn'd to droop. 



III. 

HONORIA, 



THE ACCOMPANIMENTS. 

I. 

TZv Lover. 

1. 

T T THEN ripen'd time and chasten'd will 
^ ^ Have stretch'd and tuned for love's 
accords 
The five-string'd lyre of life, until 

It vibrates with the wind of words ; 
And " Woman," " Lady," " She," and " Her " 

Are names for perfect Good and Fair, 
And unknown maidens, talk'd of, stir 

His thoughts with reverential care ; 
He meets, by heavenly chance express, 

His destined wife : some hidden hand 



54 The Accompaniments, 

Unveils to him that loveliness 

Which others cannot understand. 
No songs of love, no summer dreams 

Did e'er his longing fancy fire 
With vision like to this : she seems 

In all things better than desire. 
His merits in her presence grow, 

To match the promise in her eyes, 
And round her happy footsteps blow 

The authentic airs of Paradise. 
For love of her he cannot sleep ; 

Her beauty haunts him all the night ; 
It melts his heart, it makes him weep 

For wonder, worship, and delight. 
2. 
To her account does he transfer 

His pride, a base and barren root 
In him, but, grafted into her, 

The bearer of Hesperian fruit 
He dresses, dances well : he knows 

A small weight turns a heavy scale : 



The Accompaniments, 55 

Who'd have her care for him, and shows 

Himself no care, deserves to fail : 
The least is well, yet nothing's light 

In all the lover does ; for he 
Who pitches hope at such a height 

Will do all things with dignity. 
She is so perfect, true and pure, 

Her virtue all virtue so endears, 
That, often, when he thinks of her, 

Life's meanness fills his eyes with tears. 
She's far too lovely to be wrong : 

Black, if she pleases, shall be white : 
Prerogative ties cavil's tongue : 

Being a Queen her wrong is right : 
Defect super-perfection is : 

Her great perfections make him grieve, 
Refusing him the bliss of bliss, 

Which is to give, and not receive. 
Her graces make him rich, and ask 

No guerdon : this imperial style 



j6 The Accompaniments, 

Affronts him : he disdains to bask, 
The pensioner of her priceless smile. 

He prays for some hard thing to do, 

Some work of fame and labour immense. 

To stretch the languid bulk and thew 
Of love's fresh-born magnipotence. 

3- 
O, paradox of love, he longs, 

Most humble when he most aspires, 
To suffer scorn and cruel wrongs 

From her he worships and desires : 
And yet his passion, if need be. 

Would spend all on a single kiss. 
And call it great economy. 

Counting the honour, not the bliss : 
A trifle serves for his relief, 

A trifle turns him sick and pale ; 
And yet his pleasure and his grief 

Are both on a majestic scale. 



Tlu Accompaniments. 57 

No smallest boon were bought too dear, 

Though barter'd for his love-sick life ; 
Yet trusts he, with undaunted cheer. 

To vanquish heaven and call her wife. 
He notes how Queens of sweetness still 

Neglect their crowns and stoop to mate : 
How, self-consign'd with lavish will. 

They ask but love proportionate ; 
How swift pursuit by small degrees, 

Love's tactic, works like miracle ; 
How valour, clothed in courtesies. 

Brings down the haughtiest citadel ; 
And therefore, though he merits not 

To kiss the braid upon her skirt, 
His hope, discouraged ne'er a jot, 

Out-soars all possible desert: 
Resistance only makes him gay : 

The fiercer fight the fairer she : 
In vain her distance says him nay ; 

Hope, desperate grown, feigns certainty. 



5^ The Accompaniments, 



11. 

^The Sentences, 

1. 

^T^HE foul in heart and false in mind 
•^ Can never taste the sweets of love, 
Nor in the world's fair mistress find 
What Love finds in her scarf or glove. 

2. 

Thou shalt not scale Love's height divine 
By burrowing at its earthly base, 

Nor call the priceless jewel thine, 
Who car'st but to affi-ont the case ! 

3- 

The Wrong is made and measured by 

The Right's inverted dignity : 
A^dulterous heart ! as love is high 
So low in hell thy bed shall be. 



IDYL III. 

HONORIA. 

1. 
TJ ESTLESS and sick of long exile 
""'^ From those sweet friends, I rode to see 
The church-repairs ; and, after awhile, 

Waylaying the Dean, was ask'd to tea. 
They introduced the cousin Fred 

rd heard of, Honor's favorite ; grave, 
Dark, handsome, bluff, but gently bred, 

And with an air of the salt wave. 
He stared, and gave his hand, and I 

Stared too: then donn'd we smiles, the 
shrouds 



6o Honoria, 

Of ire, best hid while she was by, 

A sweet moon 'twixt her lighted clouds. 

2. 
Whether this Cousin was the cause 

I know not, but I seem'd to see, 
The first time then, how fair she was, 

How much the fairest of the three. 
Each stopp'd to let the other go ; 

But he, being time-bound, rose the first. 
Stay'd he in Sarum long^ If so 

I hoped to see him at the Hurst. 
No : he had call'd here, on his way 

To Portsmouth, where the Arrogant, 
His ship, was ; and should leave next day. 

For two years' cruise in the Levant. 
I watch'd her face, suspecting germs 

Of love : her farewell show'd me plain 
She loved, on the majestic terms 

That she should not be loved again. 



Honoria. 61 

And so her cousin, parting, felt, 

For all his rough sea face grew red. 
Compassion did my malice melt : 

Then went I home to a restless bed. 
I, who admired her too, could see 

His infinite remorse at this 
Great mystery, that she should be 

So beautifiil, yet not be his, 
And, pitying, long'd to plead his part ; 

But scarce could tell, so strange my whim, 
Whether the weight upon my heart 

Was sorrow for myself or him. 

3- 

She was all mildness ; yet 'twas writ 

Upon her beauty legibly, 
" He that's for heaven itself unfit, 

" Let him not hope to merit me." 
And such a challenge, quite apart 

From thoughts of love, humbled, and thus 



62 Honoria, 

To sweet repentance moved my heart, 

And made me more magnanimous, 
And led me to review my life, 

Inquiring where in aught the least. 
If question were of her for wife, 

111 might be mended, hope increased : 
Not that I soar'd so far above 

Myself, as this great hope to dare : 
And yet I half foresaw that love 

Might hope where reason would despair. 

4. 

As drowsiness my brain relieved, 

A shrill defiance of all to arms, 
Shriek'd by the stable-cock, received 

An angry answer from three farms. 
And, first, I dreamt that I, her knight, 

A clarion's haughty pathos heard, 
And rode securely to the fight. 

Cased in the scarf she had conferred ; 



Honoria. 63 

And there, the bristling Hsts behind, 

Saw many, and vanquish'd all I saw 
Of her unnumber'd cousin-kind, 

In Nav}% Army, Church, and Law ; 
Then warriors, stem and Norman-nosed, 

Seem'd Sarum choristers, whose song, 
Mix'd with celestial grief, disclosed 

More joy than memoiy^ can prolong; 
And phantasms as absurd and sweet 

Merged each in each, in endless chace, 
And everywhere I seem'd to meet 

The haunting fairness of her face. 



IV. 
THE MORNING CALL. 



THE ACCOMPANIMENTS. 

I. 

The Rose of the World. 



T O, when the Lord made North and 
-^ South 

And sun and moon ordained, He, 
Forthbringing each by word of mouth 

In order of its dignity, 
Did man from the crude clay express 

By sequence, and, all else decreed. 
He form'd the woman ; nor might less 

Than Sabbath such a work succeed. 



68 The Accompaniments, 



2. 

And still with favour singled out, 

Marr'd less than man by mortal Fall, 
Her disposition is devout, 

Her countenance angelical ; 
No faithless thought her instinct shrouds, 

But fancy chequers settled sense, 
Like alteration of the clouds 

On noonday's azure permanence ; 
Pure courtesy, composure, ease. 

Declare affections nobly fix'd. 
And impulse sprung from due degrees 

Of sense and spirit sweetly mix'd ; 
Her modesty, her chiefest grace. 

The cestus clasping Venus' side, 
Is potent to deject the face 

Of him who would affront its pride ; 
Wrong dares not in her presence speak. 

Nor spotted thought its taint disclose 



The Accompaniments, 69 

Under the protest of a cheek 

Outbragging Nature's boast the rose. 
In mind and manners how discreet ! 

How artless in her very art ; 
How candid in discourse ; how sweet 

The concord of her lips and heart ; 
How, (not to call true instinct's bent 

And woman's very nature, harm,) 
How amiable and innocent 

Her pleasure in her power to charm ; 
How humbly careful to attract, 

Though crown'd with all the soul desires, 
Connubial aptitude exact, 

Diversity that never tires. 



7^ The Accompaniments, 

II. 

The 'Tribute, 

'^TO splendour 'neath the sky's proud dome 
"^ But serves for her familiar wear ; 
The far-fetch'd diamond finds its home 

Flashing and smouldering in her hair ; 
For her the seas their pearls reveal ; 

Art and strange lands her pomp supply 
With purple, chrome, and cochineal. 

Ochre, and lapis lazuli ; 
The worm its golden woof presents ; 

Whatever runs, flies, dives, or delves. 
All doff for her their ornaments, 

Which suit her better than themselves ; 
And all, by this their power to give 

Proving her right to take, proclaim 
Her beauty's clear prerogative 

To profit so by Eden's blame. 



The Accompaniments. 71 

III. 

I'he Sentences. 

I. 

T TOW easy it Is to keep sin-free, 
^ -^ How hard that freedom to recall ! 
For 'tis the heavenly doom that we 

Forget the heavens from which we fall. 

2. 

What holy lives we all should live, 
Might we remember joy and pain. 

Alas, that memory, like a sieve, 

Should hold the chaff, and drop the grain ! 



IDYL IV. 

THE MORNING CALL. 



TJY meekness charm'd, or proud to allow 
-■^ "A queenly claim to live admired, 
" Full many a lady has ere now 

" My apprehensive fancy fired, 
"And woven many a transient chain; 

" But never lady like to this, 
" Who holds me as yonder weather-vane 

" Is held by yonder clematis. 
" She seems the life, of nature's powers : 

" Her beauty is the genial thought 



74 The Morning Call. 

"Which makes the sunshine bright; the flowers, 
" But for their hint of her, were nought." 

2. 
A voice, the sweeter for the grace 

Of suddenness, while thus I dream'd, 
" Good-morning ! " said or sang. Her face 

The mirror of the morning seem'd. 
Her sisters in the garden walk'd. 

And would I come ? Across the Hall 
She took me ; and we laugh'd and talk'd 

About the Flower-show, and the Ball. 
Their pinks had won a spade for prize : 

But that was gallantly withdrawn 
For "Jones on Wiltshire Butterflies:" 

How rude ! And so we paced the lawn, 
Close-cut, and, with geranium-plots, 

A rival glow of green and red ; 
Then counted sixty apricots 

On one small tree. The sweet hour sped ; 
And I rode slow 'tward home, my breast 

A load of joy and tender care: 



The Morning Call. 75 

And this delight, which life oppressed, 

To £x'd aims grew, that ask'd for pravT ; 
And I reach'd home, where, whip in hand 

And soil'd bank-notes all ready, stood 
The Farmer who fanned all my land. 

Except the Uttle Park and Wood 
And, with the accustomed compliment 

Of talk, and beefj and frothing beer, 
I, my own steward, took my rent. 

Three hundred pounds for half the }ear : 
Our witnesses the Maid and Groom, 

We sign'd the lease for seven years more. 
And bade Good-day. Then to my room 

I went, and closed and lock'd the door. 
And cast myself down on my bed. 

And there, with many a blissful tear, 
I vow'd to love and prayed to wed 

The Maiden who had grown so dear ; 
Thank'd God who had set her in my path ; 

And promised, as I hoped to win. 



76 The Morning Call. 

I never would sully my faith 

By the least selfishness or sin ; 
Whatever in her sight I'd seem 

I'd really be; I'd never blend 
With my delight in her a dream 

'T would change her cheek to comprehend; 
And, if she wish'd it, I'd prefer 

Another's to my own success ; 
And always seek the best for her. 

With unofficious tenderness. 

3- 

Rising, I breathed a brighter clime, 

And found myself all self above. 
And, with a charity sublime, 

Contemn'd not those who did not love ; 
And I could not but feel that then 

I shone with something of her grace, 
And went forth to my fellow men 

My commendation in my face. 



V. 

THE VIOLETS. 



THE ACCOMPANIMENTS. 

I. 

l!he Parallel. 

1. 
T KNOW not how to her it may seem, 
"^ Or how to a perfect judging eye, 
But, in my true and calm esteem, 

Man misdeserves his sweet ally : 
Where she succeeds with cloudless brow. 

In common and in holy course. 
He fails, in spite of prayer and vow, 

And agonies of faith and force : 
Or, if his suit with Heaven prevails 

To righteous life, his virtuous deeds 



8o The Accompaniments, 

Lack beauty, virtue's badge : she fails 
More graciously than he succeeds. 
Her spirit, compact of gentleness, 

If Heaven postpones or grants her pray'r, 
Conceives no pride in its success, 

And in its failure no despair ; 
But his, enamour'd of its hurt. 

Baffled, blasphemes, or, not denied, 
Crows from the dunghill of desert, 

And wags its ugly wings for pride. 
He's never young nor ripe ; she grows 

More infantine, auroral, mild ; 
And still the more she lives and knows 

The lovelier she's express'd a child. 
Say that she wants the will of man 

To conquer fame, not check'd by cross, 
Nor moved when others bless or ban ; 

She wants but what to have were loss ; 
Or say she holds no seals of power, 
But humbly lives her life at school ; 



The Accompaniments. 81 

Alas, we have yet to hail the hour 

When God shall clothe the best with rule. 
Or say she wants the patient brain 

To track shy truth ; her facile wit 
At that which he hunts down with pain 

Flies straight, and does exactly hit : 
Nay, though she were half what she is. 

He twice himself, mere love alone. 
Her special crown, as truth is his, 

Gives title to the loftier throne : 
For love is substance, truth the form : 

Truth without love were less than nought ; 
But blindest love is sweet and warm, 

And full of truth not shaped by thought : 
And therefore in herself she stands 

Adorn'd with undeficient grace, 
Her happy virtues taking hands. 

Each smiling in another's face : 
So dancing round the Tree of Life, 

They make an Eden in her breast, 
6 



82 The Accompanimejits. 

Whilst his, disjointed and at' strife, 

Proud-thoughted, do not bring him rest, 

But ever groan and gasp for dearth 
Of that in her with which they agree, 

Like rude base notes, of Httle worth 
Till married to their melody. 

2. 

Her privilege, not impotence,- 

Exempts her from the work of man : 
Humbling his proper excellence, 

Jeanne d'Arc led war's obstreperous van : 
No post of policy or pride 

Does Heaven from- her holding grudge: 
Miriam and Anna prophesied, 

In Israel Deborah was judge ; 
Countless the Christian heroines 

Who've blest the world, and still do bless ; 
The praise their equal courage wins 

Counts tenfold through their tenderness ; 



The Ac-cojnpufiiments. 83 

And, ah, sad times gone by, denied 

The joyfullest omen ever seen, 
The full-grown Lion's power and pride 

Led by the soft hands of a Queen. 

3- 

Yet, lest my tender-thoughted strain 

Should seem to impugn the right decree 
Of Him who made the human twain 

Conjoin'd in this disparity, 
My Song declares the heavenly art 

Which crowns her wealth with his defect, 
And, in love's high exacting mart, 

Pays poor desert with rich respect ; 
And makes this much unequal pair 

Well-match'd in all that love requires, 
If she's incomparably fair. 

And he incomparably admires. 



84 The Accompaniments. 

II. 

The Sentences. 

1. 

T OVE in the Loved his Hkeness lovta, 
^^^ But loves the lovely difference more, 
And like in diverse doubly moves 

His love 'tward each, twice loved before. 

2. 

Of all the love-producing host 

Of virtues which in her agree, 
'Tis vanity becomes her most, 

Perfecting her by flattering me. 

3- 
Fatal in force yet gentle in will. 

Her power makes, not defeats, but pacts; 

For, like the kindly loadstone, still 

She's drawn herself by what she attracts. 



IDYL V. 

THE VIOLETS. 

1. 

T WENT not to the Dean's unbid. 

For I'd not have my mystery, 
From her so delicately hid, 

Discuss'd by gossips at their tea. 
A long, long week, and not once there. 

Had made my spirit sick and faint. 
And lack-love, foul as love is fair, 

Perverted all things to complaint. 
How vain the world had grown to be ! 

How mean all people and their ways, 



86 The Violets. 

How ignorant their sympathy, 

And how impertinent their praise ; 
What they for virtuousness esteem'd, 

How far removed from heavenly right ; 
What pettiness their trouble seem'd, 

' How undelightful their delight ; 
To my necessity how strange 

The sunshine and the song of birds, 
How dull the clouds' continual change, 

How foolishly content the herds ; 
How unaccountable the law 

Which bade me sit in blindness here, 
While she, the sun by which I saw. 

Shed splendour in an idle sphere ! 
And then I kiss'd her stolen glove, 

And sigh'd to reckon and define 
The modes of martyrdom in love, 

And how far each one might be mine : 
I thought how love, whose vast estate 

Is earth and air and sun and sea, 



The Violets, 87 

Encounters oft, the beggar's fate, 

Despised on score of poverty ; 
How parents' pride the living's cause 

To Death's arbitrement refers, 
Asks who some other's husband was. 

And so decides who shall be her's ; 
How Nature, as unnatural 

And contradicting Nature's source, 
Which is but love, seems most of all 

Well-pleased to harry true love's course ; 
How, many times, it comes to pass 

That trifling shades of temperament, 
Affecting oply one, alas, 

Not love, but love's success prevent; 
How manners often falsely paint 

The man ; how passionate respect. 
Hid by. itself, may bear the taint 

Of coldness and a dull neglect ;, 
And how a little outward dust 

Can a clear merit quite o'ercloud, 



88 The Violets, 

And make her fatally unjust, 

And him desire a darker shroud; 
How senseless Opportunity- 
Gives baser men the better chance ; 
How all things, each in its degree, 

Impose upon her ignorance ; 
How Heaven, inscrutable in this. 

Lets the gross general make or mar 
The destiny of love, which is 

So tender and particular; 
Say rather how itself conspires 

With Man and Nature against love, 
As pleased to couple cross desires. 

And cross where they themselves approve. 
Wretched were life, if the end were now ! 

But this gives tears to dry despair. 
Faith shall be blest, we know not how, 

And love fulfill'd, we know not where. 
While thus I grieved, and kiss'd her glove, 

My man brought in her note to say. 



The Violets, 89 

Papa had bid her send his love, 

And hoped I'd dine with them next day: 
They had learn'd and practised Purcell's glee. 

To sing it by to-morrow night. 
The Postscript was : Her sisters and she 

Inclosed some violets, blue and white : 
She and her sisters found them where 

I wager'd once no violets grew; 
So they had won the gloves. And there 

The violets lay, two white, one blue. 



VI. 

THE DEAN. 



THE ACCOMPANIMENTS. 

I. 

Frost in Harvest. 

^T^HE lover who, across a gulf 

-^ Of ceremony, views his Love, 
And dares not yet address herself, 

Pays worship to her stolen glove. 
The gulf o'erleapt, the lover wed, 

It happens oft, (let truth be told,) 
The halo leaves the sacred head. 

Respect grows lax, and worship cold, 
And all love's May-day promising, 

Like song of birds before they pair. 



94 The Accompaniments. 

Or flush of flowers in boastful Spring, 

Dies out, and leaves the Summer bare. 
Yet should a man, it seems to me, 

Honour what honourable is, 
For some more honourable plea 

Than only that it is not his. 
The gentle wife, who decks his board 

And makes his day to have no night. 
Whose wishes wait upon her Lord, 
Who finds her own in his delight, 
Is she another now than she 

Who, mistress of her maiden charms. 
At his wild prayer, incredibly 

Committed them to his proud arms ? 
Unless her choice of him's a slur 

Which makes her proper credit dim, 
He never enough can honour her 

Who past all speech has honour'd him. 



.1 



The Accompaniments, 95 

11. 

Love Justified. 

TT 7HAT if my pole-star of respect 

^ ^ Be dim to others, shall their " Nay," 
Presumably their own defect, 

Invalidate my heart's strong " Yea ? " 
And can they rightly me condemn, 

If I, with partial love, prefer ? 
I am not itiore unjust to them, 

But only not unjust to her. 
Leave us alone ! After awhile. 

This pool of private charity 
Shall change its shores into an isle, 

And roll a world-embracing sea. 
This little germ of nuptial love, 

Which springs so simply from the sod, 
The root is, as my Song shall prove, 

Of all our love to man and God. 



q6 ^ The Accompaniments, 

III. 

Perfect Love rare, 

1% /TOST rare is still most noble found, 
XtX jyjQst noble still most incomplete : 
Sad law, which leaves King Love uncrbwn'd 

In this obscure, terrestrial seat ! 
With bale more sweet than others' bliss, 

And bliss more wise than others' bale, 
The secrets of the world are his. 

And freedom without let or pale. 
O, zealous good, O, virtuous glee, 

Religious, and without alloy, 
O, privilege high, which none but he 

Who chastely merits can enjoy; 
O, Love, who art that fabled sun 

Which all the world with bounty loads, 
Without respect of realms, save one. 

And gilds with double lustre Rhodes, 



The Accompaniments . 97 

Thy heavenly splendour magnifies 
The least admixture of earth's mould, 

Cheapens thyself in thine own eyes, 
And makes the foolish mocker bold. 



98 The Accompaniments, 



IV. 

^he Sentences. 

I. 

Y TE safely walks in darkest ways, 
-*■ -^ Whose youth is lighted from above. 
Where, through the senses' silvery haze, 
Dawns the veil'd moon of nuptial love. 

2. 

Who is the Happy Husband ? He 
Who, scanning his unwedded life, 

Thanks Heaven, with a conscience free, 
'Twas faithful to his future Wife. 



IDYL VI. 



THE DEAN. 



^'l ^HE Ladies rose. I held the door, 
"*" And sigh'd, as her departing grace 
Assured me that she always wore 

A heart as happy as her face ; 
And, jealous of the winds that blew, 

I dreaded, o'er the tasteless wine. 
What fortune momently might do 

To hurt the hope that she'd be mine. 



100 The Dean, 



2. 

Towards my mark the Dean's talk set : 

He praised my " Notes on Abury." 
Read when the Association met 

At Sarum ; he was glad to see 
I had not^stopp'd, as some men had, 

At Wrangler and Prize Poet; last, 
He hoped the business was not bad 

I came about : then the wine pass'd. 

3- 

A full glass prefaced my reply : 

I loved his daughter, Honor : he knew 
My estate and prospects : might I try 

To win her *? In his eyes tears grew. 
He thought 'twas that. I might : he gave 

His true consent, if I could get 
Her love. A dear good Girl ! she'd have 

Only three thousand pounds as yet : 



The Dean, loi 

More bye and bye. Yes, his goodwill 

Should go with me : he would not stir : 
He and my father in old time still 

Wish'd I should one day marry her ; 
But God so seldom lets us take 

The road we think our best, when it lies 
In steps that either mar or make 

Or alter others' destinies, 
That, though his blessing and his prayer 

Had help'd, should help, my suit, yet he 
Left all to me, his passive share 

Consent and opportunity. 
My chance, he hoped, was good : I'd won 

Some name already ; friends and place 
Appeared within my reach; but none 

Her mind and manners would not grace. 
Girls love to see the men in whom 

They invest their vanities admired : 
Besides, where goodness is, there room 

For good to work will be desired. 



102 The Dean. 

'Twas so with one now past away : 
And what she was at twenty-two, 

Honor was now : and he might say 
Mine was a choice I could not rue. 

4- 

He ceased, and gave his hand. He had won 

(And joyful tears avouch'd my word) 
From me the affection of a son, 

Whichever fortune Heaven conferred. 
Well, well, would I take more wine? Then go 

To her : she makes tea on the Lawn 
These fine warm afternoons. And so 

We went whither my soul was drawn ; 
And her light-hearted ignorance 

Of interest in our discourse 
Fill'd me with love, and seem'd to enhance 

Her beauty with pathetic force, 
As, through the flowery mazes sweet, 

Fronting the wind that flutter'd blythe, 



The Dean. 103 

And loved her shape, and made her feet 
Bare to their insteps proud and lithe, 

She approach'd, all mildness and young trust; 
And ever her chaste and noble air 

Gave to love's feast its choicest gust, 
A vague, faint augun- of despair. 



VII. 
iETNA AND THE MOON. 



i 



THE ACCOMPANIMENTS. 

I. 

'The ^een. 



Mr^O heroism and holiness 

How hard it is for man to soar, 
But how much harder to be less 

Than what his mistress loves him for ! 
He does with ease what do he must, 

Or lose her, and there's nought debarr'd 
From him who's call'd to meet her trust. 

And credit her desired regard. 
Ah, wasteful woman, she that may 

On her sweet self set her own price. 



io8 The Accompaniments, 

Knowing he cannot choose but pay, 
How has she cheapen'd paradise ; 

How given^for nought her priceless gift, 
How spoil'd the bread and spill'd the wine 

Which, spent with due, respective thrift. 
Had made brutes men and men divine. 

2. 

Queen, awake to thy renown. 
Require what 'tis our wealth to give, 

And comprehend and wear the crown 
Of thy despised prerogative ! 

1 who in manhood's name at length 
With glad songs come to abdicate 

The gross regality of strength, 
Must yet in this thy praise abate. 

That through thine erring humbleness 
And disregard of thy degree. 

Mainly, has man been so much less 
Than fits his fellowship with thee. 



The Accompaniments. 109 

High thoughts had shaped the foolish brow, 

The coward had grasp'd the hero's sword, 
The vilest had been great, hadst thou, 

Just to thyself, been worth's reward : 
But lofty honours undersold 

Seller and buyer both disgrace ; 
And favour that makes folly bold 

Puts out the light in virtue's face. 



110 The Accompaniments, 



11. 

T7j^ Sentences. 

1. 
/nr^HAIS, my heart's no match for thine : 

-^ Waste not thy warmth on me ; but go 
Seek out some chiUier spirit : mine 
Asks not another fire, but snow. 

2. 

The lack of lovely pride in her 

Who strives to please, my pleasure numbs ; 
And still the maid I most prefer 

Whose care to please with pleasing comes. 



IDYL VII. 

iETNA AND THE MOON. 

I. 
^T^O ease my heart, I, feigning, seized 

-*- A pen, and, showering tears, declared 
My unfeign'd passion ; sadly pleased 

Only to dream that so I dared. 
Thus was the fervid truth confess'd, 

And love, the paradox, penn'd the plea. 
As wilfully in hope depressed, 

Yet bold beyond hope's warranty : 



112 Mtna and the Moon, 



2. 

" O, more than dear, be more than just, 

"And dc^not deafly shut the door! 
" I claim no right to speak ; I trust 

" Mercy, not right : yet who has more ? 
" For, if more love makes not more fit, 

" Of claimants here none's more nor less ; 
" Since your great worth does not permit 

" Degrees in our unworthiness. 
" Yet, if there's aught that can be done 

" With arduous labour of long years, 
" By which you'll say that you'll be won, 

" O tell me, and I'll dry my tears. 
"Ah, no ; if loving cannot move, 

" How foolishly must labour fail ! 
" The use of deeds is to show love : 

" If signs suffice let these avail : 
" Your name pronounced brings to my heart 

"A feeling like the violet's breath, 



Mtna and the Moon, 113 

•' Which does so much of heaven impart 

"As makes me yearn with tears for death ; 
" The winds that in the garden toss 

" The Guelder-roses give me pain, 
"Alarm me with the dread of loss, 

" Exhaust me with the dream of gain ; 
" I'm troubled by the clouds that move ; 

" The breath shakes me when I respire ; 
"And ever, like a torch, my love, 

" Thus agitated, flames the higher ; 
"All's hard that has not you for goal; 

" I scarce can move my pen to write, 
" For love engages all my soul, 

"And leaves my body void of might; 
" The wings of will spread idly as do 

" The bird's that in a vacuum lies ; 
" My breast, asleep with dreams of you, 

" Forgets to breathe, and bursts in sighs ; 
" I see n© rest this side the grave, 

" No rest or hope, from you apart ; 
8 



114 JEtna and the Moon. 

" Your life is in the rose you gave, 

" Its perfume suffocates my heart ; 
" There's no refreshment in the breeze ; 

" The heaven o'erwhelms me with its blue ; 
" I faint beside the dancing seas ; 

" Winds, skies, and waves are only you ; 
" Where'er I go, wandering forlorn, 

" You are the world's love, life, and glee : 
" O, wretchedness not to be borne 

" If she that's Love should not love me !" 

3- 
I could not write another word. 

Through pity for my own distress ; 
And forth I went, untimely stirr'd 

To make my misery more or less. 
I went beneath the heated noon, 

Until I came where, simple and free, 
She sat at work ; and, as the Moon 

On -^tna smiles, she smiled on me ; 



^^t7ia mid the Moon. 115 

And then grew pale and grave. No more. 

The Dean, by ill or happy hap, 
Came home ; and Wolf burst in before. 

And put his nose upon her lap. 



VIII. 
SARUM PLAIN. 



THE ACCOMPANIMENTS. 

I. 

Present Good contemned, 

T TOW long shall men deny the flower, 
^ ^ Because its roots are in the earth ; 
And crave with tears from God the dower 

They have, and have despised as dearth ; 
And scorn as low their human lot, 

With frantic pride, too blind to see 
That standing on the head makes not 

Either for ease or dignity ? 
But fools shall feel like fools to find, 

(Too late inform'd,) that Angels' mirtli 
Is one in cause and mode and kind 

With that which they contemn'd on earth. 



120 The Accompaniments. 



II. 

7he Revelation. 

\ N idle Poet, here and there, 
-*■ ^ Looks round him, but, for all the rest, 
The world, unfathomably fair, 

Is duller than a witling's jest. 
Love wakes men, once a life-time each ; 

They lift their heavy lids, and look ; 
And, lo, what one sweet page can teach 

They read with joy, then shut the book : 
And some give thanks, and some blaspheme, 

And most forget ; but, either way, 
That and the Child's unheeded dream 

Is all the light of all their day. 



Tlie Accompaniments. 121 



III. 

Love in Idleness, 

T?XCEPT love's toil has love for prize, 
^^ (And then he's Hercules,) above 
All other contrarieties 

Is labour contrary to love. 
No fault of love's, but Nature's Laws : 

And love in idleness lies quick ; 
For, as the worm whose powers make pause 

And swoon, through alteration sick. 
The soul, its wingless state dissolved. 

Awaits its nuptial life complete, 
All indolently self-convolved, 

Cocoon'd in silken fancies sweet 



122 



The Accompaniments. 



I 



IV. 

The "Tempest 

^ I AHE storm-cloud, whose portentous shade 

-^ Fumes from a core of smother'd fire, 
His livery is, whose worship'd maid 

Denies herself to his desire. 
Ah, grief that almost crushes life, 

To lie upon his lonely bed 
And fancy her another's wife ! 

His brain is flame, his heart is lead ; 
Hope is despised, and death esteem'd : 

And yet this tempest shall not blast : 
Incredible as late it seem'd. 

The unscarr'd heavens grow clear at last. 



The Accompaniments, 123 



V. 

Love in '7ears. 

TF fate Love's dear ambition mar, 

^ And load his breast with hopeless pain, 

And seem to blot out sun and star, 

Love, lost or won, is countless gain : 
His sorrow boasts a secret bliss 

Which sorrow of itself beguiles, 
And Love in tears too noble is 

For pity, save of Love in smiles. 
But looking backward through his tears, 

With vision of maturer scope, 
How often one dead joy appears 

The platform of some better hope ! 
And, let us own, the sharpest smart 

Which human patience may endure 
Pays light for that which leaves the heart 

More generous, dignified, and pure. 



124 



The Accompaniments, 



VI. 

"The Sentences. 

1. 

T'LL speak the truth, (it will not blast !) 
"^ In tenderest love-strains most we hear 
The dubious chords, which, while they last, 
Deject love's very life with fear. 



To me, who make of love my boast. 
Be this sad word by love forgiven. 

Strange times there are when love's almost 
As joyless as the hope of heaven. / 



IDYL VIII. 

SARUM PLAIN. 

1. 
"DREAKFAST enjoy'd, with hush of 
■*^ boughs 

And perfumes thro' the windows blown ; 
Brief worship done, which still endows 

The day with beauty not its own; 
With intervening rest, that paints 

Each act with honour, and makes lives calm 
As old processions of the Saints, 

At every step a wand of palm; 



126 Sarum Plain. 

Then light shawls donn'd with help, we drove 

To Wilton; there discuss'd again, 
Till all at last agreed to approve 

The Lombard church; then, 'tward the Plain, 
We past my house (remark'd with praise 

By the others, and she acquiesced) ; 
And, leaving the old and lazy greys 

Below the hill, we walk'd the rest. 

2. 

The moods of love are like the wind; 

And none knows whence or why they rise 
I ne'er before felt heart and mind 

So much affected through mine eyes. 
How cognate with the flatter'd air. 

How native to the earth her throne. 
She moved ; how feeling and how fair 

For other's pleasure and her own : 
And, ah, the heaven of her face : 

How, when she laugh'd, I seem'd to see 



Sarum Plain. 127 

The gladness of the primal grace, 

And how, when grave, its dignity ! 
Of all she was, the least not less 

Delighted the devoted eye. 
No fold or fashion of her dress 

Her dearness did not sanctify : 
Better it seem'd as now to walk, 

And humbly by her gentle side 
To observe her smile and hear her talk, 

Than call the world's next best my bride. 
I could not else than grieve. What cause ? 

Was I not blest, was she not there, 
Likely my own *? Ah, that it was : 

How like seem'd ' likely ' to despair ! 

3- 

And yet to see her so benign, 

So amiable and womanly. 
In every christian kindness mine, 
And full of maiden courtesy, 



128 Sarum Plain, 

Was pleasure so without alloy, 

Such unreproved, sufficient bliss, 
I almost wish'd, the while, that joy 

Might never further go than this. 
I feign'd her won : the mind finite, 

Puzzled and fagg'd by stress and strain 
To comprehend the whole delight. 

Made bliss more hard to bear than pain : 
All good, save power to taste, so summ'd 

And grasp'd, it smote me like a knife 
That sin had narrowed, dull'd and numb'd 

The senses to the feast of life ; 
That passing good breathes sweetest breath ; 

And love itself at highest reveals 
More black than bright, commending death. 

By teaching how much life conceals. 

4- 
But happier passions these subdued, 

When from the close and sultry lane, 



Sarum Plain, 129 

With eyes made bright by what they viewed, 

We emerged upon the mounded Plain. 
As to the breeze a flag unfurls 

My spirit expanded, sweetly embraced 
By those same gusts which shook her curls 

And vex'd the ribbon at her waist. 
To the future cast I future cares ; 

Breathed with a heart unfreighted, free, 
And laugh'd at the presumptuous airs 

That with her muslins folded me ; 
Till, one vague rack along my sky. 

The thought that she might ne'er be mine. 
Lay half forgotten by the eye 

So feasted with the Sun's warm shine. 

5- 

By the great stones we chose our ground 
For shade ; and there, in converse sweet, 

Took luncheon. On a little mound 
Sat the three ladies : at their feet, 

9 



130 Sarum Plain. 

I sat; and smelt the heathy smell, 

Pluck'd hare-bells, turn'd the telescope 

To the country round. My life went well, 
That hour, without the wheels of hope : 

And I despised the Druid rocks 

That scowPd their chill gloom from above. 

Like churls whose stolid wisdom mocks 

. The lightness of immortal love. 



IX. 
THE RAILWAY. 



The Accompaniments. 133 



THE ACCOMPANIMENTS. 

I. 

T!he Miscreant. 

./^ MAN, (and Legion is thy name,) 
^^ Who hadst for dowry with thy wife 
A conduct void of outward blame, 

The beauty of a loyal life. 
Is nature in thee too spiritless. 

Ignoble, impotent, and dead. 
To prize her love and loveliness 

The more for being thy daily bread ? 
And art thou one of that vile crew 

Which see no splendour in the sun, 



2 34 The Accompaniments. 

Praising alone the good that's new, 
'" Or over, or not yet begun ? 
And has it dawn'd on thy dull wits 

That love warms many as soft a nest. 
And, though swathed round with benefits, 

Thou art not singularly blest ; 
And fail thy thanks for gifts divine. 

The common food of many a heart. 
Because they are not only thine ? 

Beware lest in the end thou art 
Cast like a goat forth from the fold. 

Too proud to feel the common grace 
Of blissful myriads who behold 

For evermore the Father's face. 



The Accompaniments. 135 



II. 

l^he Wife's 'tragedy, 

1\ /TAN must be pleased ; but him to please 
"*■-*" Is woman's pleasure : down the gulf 
Of his condoled necessities 

She casts her best, she flings herself: 
How often flings for nought ! and yokes 

Her heart, to an icicle or whim, 
Whose each impatient word provokes 

Another, not from her, but him ; 
While she, too gentle even to force 

His penitence by kind replies, 
Waits by, expecting his remorse, 

With pardon in her pitying eyes : 
And if he at last, by shame oppress'd, 

A comfortable word confers, 



136 The Accompaniments, 

She leans and weeps against his breast, 

And seems to think the sin was hers : 
And while his love has any life, 

Or any eye to see her charms, 
At any time, she's still his wife, 

Dearly devoted to his arms. 
She loves with love that cannot tire ; 

And if, ah woe, she loves alone. 
Through passionate duty love flames higher. 

As grass grows taller round a stone. 



l^he Accompaniments. 137 



III. 

The Sentences, 

1. 

TT^EMALE and male God made the Man 
*■ His Image is the whole, not half; 
And, in our love, we dimly scan 
The love which is between Himself. 



2. 

Lo, there, whence love, life, light are pour'd, 

Veil'd with impenetrable rays, 
Amidst the presence of the Lord 

Coequal Wisdom laughs and plays,* 

* Prov. viii. 22-30. 



13^ The Accompaniments, 

3- 

Few hear my song: it soars above 
The subtlest senses of the swarm 

Of wretched things which know not love, 
Their Psyche still a wingless worm. 



IDYL IX. 

THE RAILWAY. 



T STOOD by Honor and the Dean, 

They seated in the London Train : 
A month from her ! yet this had been, 

Ere now, without such bitter pain. 
But neighbourhood makes parting light. 

And distance remedy has none : 
She near, I, gratefiil, felt as might 

A blind man sitting in the sun : 
She near, all for the time was well ; 

Hope's self, when we were far apart. 



H^ The Railway. 

With lonely feeling, like the smell 

Of heath on mountains, fill'd my heart ; 

To see her was delight's full scope ; 
And her kind smile, so clear of care, 

That day, though darkening all my hope, 
Gilded the cloud of my despair. 

2. 

She had forgot to bring a book : 

I lent one ; blamed the print for old ; 
And did not tell her that she took 

A Tasso worth its weight in gold. 
I hoped she'd lose it ; for my love 

Was grown so dainty, high, and nice, 
It prized n^ luxury above 

The sense of fruitless sacrifice. 

3- 

The Train stirr'd ; with it, all my worth : 
My spirits fled in fear to mine eyes, 



The Railway, 141 

As in Peru, if moves the Earth, 

The people hurry out with cries. 
I bade her adieu, shook hands with the Dean, 

Ask'd him arriv'd to write ; forth roll'd ; 
A bitter tear or two unseen, 

She reading Tasso ; then the bell tolPd ; 
And, with a shock and shriek like death, 

Link catching link, the long array. 
With ponderous pulse and fiery breath, 

Proud of its burthen, swept away ; 
And through the Hngering crowd I broke ; 

Sought the church-tower, and thence, heart- 
sick. 
Beheld, far off, the little smoke 

Along the landscape kindling quick. 

4- 

What should I do, where should I go. 

Now she was gone, my Love ! for mine 
She was, whatever here below 

Cross'd or usurp'd my right divine. 



142 The Railway, 

Life without her was vain and gross ; 

The glory from the world was gone ; 
And on the gardens of the Close 

As on Saharah shone the sun. 
Oppress'd with her departed grace, 

My thoughts on ill surmises fed : 
The harmful influence of the place 

She went to, fill'd my soul with dread. 
She, mixing with the people there. 

Might come back alter'd, having caught 
The foolish, fashionable air 

Of knowing all, and feeling naught. 
Or, giddy with her beauty's praise. 

She'd scorn our simple country life, 
Its wholesome nights and tranquil days, 

No longer fit to be my wife. 
" To be my wife," oh, tenderest word ! 

How oft, as fearful she might hear. 
Whispering that name of " wife," I heard 

Therein the love-song of the sphere. 



Tlie Railway, 143 



5- 
I found the Book she had used, and stay'd 

For Evening Prayers ; in grief's despite 
Felt grief assuaged ; then homeward stray'd. 

Weary beforehand of the night 
The blackbird, in the shadowy wood, 

Talk'd to himself; and eastward grew 
In heaven the symbol of my mood, 

Where one bright star engross'd the blue. 



If 



it 



X. 

GOING TO CHURCH, 

lO 



I 



M 



THE ACCOMPANIMENTS. 

I. 

The Gracious Chivalry. 

AY these my songs inaugurate 
The day of a new chivalry 
Which shall not feel the mortal fate 

Of fashion, chance, or phantasy. 
The ditties of the knightly time, 

The deep-conceiving dreams of youth, 
With sweet corroboration chime, 

And I believe that love's the truth. 
I do and ever shall profess 

That I more tenderly revere 
A woman in her gentleness 

Than all things else I love or fear ; 



148 The Accompaniments, 

And these glad songs are good to prove 

To loyal hearts convincingly, 
That he who's orthodox in love 

Can hold no kind of heresy. 
Long lease of his low mind befall 

The man who, in his wilful gust. 
Makes waste for one, to others all 

Discourteous, frigid, and unjust ! 
Untrue to love and ladies he 

Who, scarf on arm and spear in rest, 
Assail'd the world with proof that she, 

Being his, was also nature's best. 
That chivalry do I proclaim 

Alone substantial, wise, and good. 
Which scorns to help one woman's fame 

With treason against all womanhood. 
Each maid, (albeit to me my own 

Appears and is past others rare,) 
When aptness makes her beauty known, 

May seem as singularly fair ; 



The Accompaniments. 149 

And each is justly most desired ; 

And no true Knight will care to prove 
That there is more of what's admired 

In his than in another's love. 



150 The Accompaniments, 



II. 

Love Liberal. 

" \7[/HENEVER I come where women 

^ ^ are, 

" How sad soe'er I was before, 
" Though like a ship frost-bound and far 

" Withheld in ice from the ocean's roar, 
" Third-winter'd in that dreadful dock, 

" With stifFen'd cordage, sails decay'd, 
" And crew that care for calm and shock 

" Alike, too dull to be dismay'd ; 
" Though spirited Hke that speedless bark, 

"My cold affections like the crew, 
" My present drear, my future dark, 

" The past too happy to be true ; 
" Yet if I come where women are, 

" How sad soever I was before, 



The Accompaniments. 151 

" Then is my sadness banish'd far, 

" And I am like that ship no more ; 
" Or like that ship if the ice-field splits, 

" Burst by the sudden polar Spring, 
" And all thank God with their warmed wits, 

" And kiss each other and dance and sing, 
" And hoist fresh sails that make the breeze 

" Blow them along the liquid sea, 
" From the homeless North where life did freeze, 

" Into the haven where they would be." 
So thought the melancholy boy, 

Whose love-sick mind, misreading fate, 
Scarce hoped that any Queen of Joy 

Could ever stoop to be his mate. 
Thus thinks the man, who deems, (tho' life 

Has long been crown'd with youth's desire,) 
That he who has his Love to wife 

Has all diat heart may well require : — 
Though bonded unto one, my best. 

My faith to whom is pleasure and ease, 



152 The Accompaniments. 

Shall I despise or shun the rest 

Of nature's queens and priestesses *? 
Rather by loving one I learn 

To love her like, who still recall 
My nuptial pale, and teach in turn 

That faith to one is debt to all : 
For Pm not of so dull a wit 

As not to know that what I admire 
And the sweet joy of loving it 

Would both be slain by false desire ; 
Therefore, though singly her's till death, 

(And after, I hope,) with all I'm free, 
Inhaling love's delighted breath 

In the bright air of chastity. 



The Accompaniments. 153 



III. 

^e Sentences. 

1. 

T T TE fast, give alms, pray, weep, and wake, 
^ * And wear our hearts out, o'er the Word : 
Ah, less of this, and let us make 
More melody unto the Lord ! 

2. 

Happy, if on the tempest's gloom 
Thou seest the covenant of God ; 

But far, far happier he on whom 
The kiss works better than the rod. 



154 The Accompaniments. 

3- 
O, too absurd for pity or blame, 

Prostrate, our backs against the Sun, 

We mourn the shadow of our shame. 

When getting up would make it none. 



IDYL X. 

GOING TO CHURCH. 

1. 

T WOKE at three ; for I was bid 
"•'To breakfast with the Dean at nine, 
And take his girls to Church. I slid 

My curtain, found the season fine, 
And could not rest, so rose. The air 

Was dark and sharp; the roosted birds 
Cheep'd, '' Here am I, Sweet ; are you there ? ' 

On Avon's misty flats the herds 
Expected, comfortless, the day. 

Which slowly fired the clouds above ; 



156 Going to Church, 

The cock scream'd, somewhere far away; 

In sleep the matrimonial dove 
Was brooding : no wind waked the wood, 

Nor moved the midnight marish damps, 
Nor thrill'd the poplar ; quiet stood 

The chestnut with its thousand lamps ; 
The moon shone yet, but weak and drear. 

And seem'd to watch, with bated breath, 
The landscape, all made sharp and clear 

By stillness, as a face by death. 

2. 

My prayers for her being done, I took 

Occasion by the quiet hour 
To find and know, by Rule and Book, 

The rights of love's beloved power. 

3- 

Fronting the question without ruth. 
Not ignorant that evermore. 



Going to Church. 157 

If men will stoop to kiss the Truth, 
She lifts them higher than beft)re, 

I from above such light required 
As now should once for all destroy 

The folly which at times desired 
A sanction for so great a joy. 

4- 

Thenceforth, and through that prayer, I trod 

A path with no suspicions dim ; 
I loved her in the name of God, 

And for the ray she was of Him ; 
I ought to admire much more, not less : 

Her beauty was a godly grace : 
The myster}" of loveliness, 

Which made an altar of her face. 
Was not of the flesh, though that was fair. 

But a most pure and lambent light. 
Without a name, by which the rare 

And virtuous spirit flamed to sight 



158 Going to Church. 

If oft, in love, effect lack'd cause, 

And cause effect, 'twere vain to soar 
Reasons to seek for that which was 

Reason itself, or something more. 
My joy was no idolatry 

Upon the ends of the vile earth bent. 
For when I loved her most then I 

Most yearn'd for more divine content, 
And felt her charms, less what they were, 

Than what foretold, not slow to infer 
How loving and how lovely fair 

Must He be who had fashion'd her. 
That other doubt, which, like a ghost 

At all love's banquets haunted me, 
Was thus resolv'd : Him loved I most. 

But her I loved most sensibly : 
Lastly, I knew rny hope unblamed 

By any soil o^ sensual smirch ; 
And forth I went, no whit ashamed 

To take my passion into Church ; 



Going to Church. 159 

Grateful and glad to think that all 
Such cogitations would seem vain 

To her, whose nature's lighter fall 

Made no divorce 'twixt heart and brain. 

5- 
I found them, with exactest grace 

And fresh as Spring for Spring attired ; 
And, by the radiance in her face, 

I saw she felt she was admired ; 
And, through the common luck of love, 

A moment's fortunate delay, 
To fit the little Ulac glove. 

Gave me her arm ; and I and they 
(They true to this and every hour. 

As if attended on by Time), 
Went into Church while yet the tower 

Was warbling with the finish'd chime. 
6. 
Her soft song, singularly heard 

Beside me, in the Psalms, withstood. 



i6o Going to Church, 

The roar of voices, like a bird 

Sole singing in a windy wood ; 
And, when we knelt, she seem'd to be 

An angel teaching me to pray ; 
And all through the sweet Liturgy 

My spirit rejoiced without allay, 
Being for once borne clearly above 

All banks and bars of ignorance. 
By this bright spring-tide of pure love, 

And floated in a free expanse. 
Whence it could see from side to side. 

The obscurity from every part 
Winnow'd away and purified 

By the vibrations of my heart. 

7- 
The Dean's Text, (oft it happens thus,) 

Most apt to what my thoughts employ'd. 

Was Paul's word to those, infamous, 

Of natural affection void. 



Going to Church, 161 

He preach'd but what the conscience saith 

To those blest few that Usten well : 
" No fruit can come of that man's faith 

Who is to Nature infidel. 
God stands not with Himself at strife : 

His Work is first, His Word is next : 
Two sacred tomes, one Book of Life ; 

The comment this, and that the text. 
Ill worship they who drop the Creed, 

And take their chance with Jew and Turk ; 
But not so ill as they who read 

The Word, and doubt the greater Work." 



11 



XI. 

THE BALL. 



THE ACCOMPANIMENTS. 
I. 

l%e Daughter of Eve. 

1. 
npHOUGH woman be the Child of Eve, 
-^ Death-wounded to the dear heart's core ; 
Shall man for her sad lineage grieve, 

Man, suffering less and sinning more ? 
No : he whose praises do not pile 

The measure of her just desert, * 
Impugns the logic of her smile, 

Which gives the balm and takes the hurt. 
For my part, when, rejoiced, I trace 

Her various worth, and how she is 



i65 The Accompaniments. 

My most effectual means of grace, 
And casket of my worldly bliss, 

I, looking round, do nowhere see 
That second good which doth afford 

The like compulsion, urging me 

With a pure mind to praise the Lord. 

2. 

Her meek and gentle mood o'erstept 

Withers my love, that lightly scans 
The rest, and does in her accept 

All her own faults, but none of man's. 
I have no heart to judge her ill, 

Or honour her fair station less. 
Who, with a woman's errors, ^till 

Preserves a woman's gentleness ; 
For thus I think, if any I see 

Who falls short of my high desire, 
" How admirable would she be, 

Could she but know how I admire ! '* 



The Accompa?i2ments, 167 

Or fails she, though from blemish clear, 

To charm to the full, 'tis my defect; 
And so my thought, with reverent fear 

To err by doltish disrespect. 
Imputes love's great regard, and says, 

" Though unapparent 'tis to me. 
Be sure this Queen some other sways 

" With well perceiv'd supremacy." 

3- 
Behold the worst ! Light from above 

On the blank ruin writes " Forbear : 
" Her first crime was unguarded love, 

"And all /the rest was mere despair." 

4- 
Discrown'd, dejected, but not lost, 

O, sad one, with no more a name 
Or place in all the honour'd host 

Of maiden and of matron fame, 



i68 The Accompaniments. 

Grieve on ; but, if thou grievest right, 

'Tis not that these abhor thy state, 
Nor would'st thou lower an inch the height 

Which makes thy casting down so great. 
Good is thy lot in its degree ; 

For hearts that verily repent, 
Are burden'd with impunity, 

And comforted by chastisement. 
Sweet patience sanctify thy woes ! 

And doubt not but our God is just. 
Albeit unscath'd thy traitor goes, 

And thou art stricken to the dust. 
That penalty's the best to bear 

Which follows soonest on the §in ; 
And guilt's a game where losers fare 

Better than those who seem to win* 



Tlu Accompaniments, 169 



IL 

He Sentences. 



T?RACTIONS indefinitely small 
"*■ Of interests infinitely great, 
Count in Love's learned wit for all, 
And liave the dignity of fate. 



2f 

Not to unveil before the gaze 
Of an imperfect sympathy, 

In aught we are, is the sweet praise 
And the main sum of modesty. 



170 The Accompaniments. 

3- 
Love blabb'd of is a great decline; 

A careless word unsanctions sense ; 

But he who casts Heaven's truth to swine 

Consummates all incontinence. 



IDYL XL 

THE BALL. 

1. 

1% /TY memon- of heaven awakes : 

XjA. '-She's not of the earth, although her 

light, 
" As lantem'd by her body, makes 

" A piece of it past bearing bright. 
" So innocently proud and fair 

" She is, that Wisdom sings for glee 
"And Folly dies, breathing one air 

" With such a bright-cheek'd chastity ; 
"And though her charms are a strong law 

" Compelling all men to admire, 



172 The Ball. 

" They are so clad with lovely awe 

" None but the noble dares desire. 
" He who would seek to make her his 

" Will comprehend that souls of grace 
" Own sweet repulsion, and that 'tis 

" The quality of their embrace 
" To be like the majestic reach 

" Of coupled suns, that, from afar, 
" Mingle their mutual spheres, while each 

" Circles the twin obsequious star : 
"And in t'he warmth of hand to hand, 

" Of heart to heart, he'll vow to note 
"And reverently understand 

" How the two spirits shine remote ; 
"And ne'er to numb fine honour's nerve, 

" Nor let sweet awe in passion melt, 
" Nor fail by courtesies to observe 

" The space which makes attraction felt ; 
" Nor cease to guard like life the sense 

" Which tells him that the embrace of love 



The Ball, 173 

" Is o'er a gulf of difference 

" Love cannot sound, nor death remove." 

2. 

This learn'd I, watching where she danced. 

Native to melody and light, 
And now and then toward me glanced, 

Pleased, as I hoped, to please my sight. 

3- 

Ah, love to speak was impotent, 

Till music did a tongue confer, 
And I ne'er knew what music meant, 

Until I danced to it with her. 
Too proud of the sustaining power 

Of my, till then, unblemish'd joy, 
My* passion, for reproof, that hour 

Tasted mortality's alloy. 
And bore me down an eddying gulf: 

I wish'd the world might run to wreck, 



174 The Ball, 

So I but once might fling myself 

About her beautiful white neck. 
I ask'd her, would she waltz, a dance 

We hated ; and I saw the rays 
Withdrawn, which did till then enhance 

Her fairness with its thanks for praise. 
She'd dance the next quadrille, then *? " Yes." 

" No," had not fall'n with half the force. 
She. was fulfil'd with gentleness, 

And I with measureless remorse; 
And, ere I slept, on bended knee 

I own'd myself, with many a tear, 
Unseasonable, disorderly, 

And a deranger of love's sphere ; 
Gave thanks that, when we stumble and fall, 

We hurt ourselves, and not the Truth, 
And, rising, found its brightness all 

The brighter through the tears of ruth. 



The Ball. 175 

4- 
Nor was my hope that night made less, 

Though order'd, humbled, and reproved: 
Her farewell did her heart express 

As much, but not with anger, moved : 
My grief had all my soul betray'd ; 

And, in the night of my despair, 
My love, a flower of noon afraid, 

Divulged its fulness unaware. 
I saw she saw : and, O, sweet Heaven, 

Could my glad mind have credited 
That influence had to me been given 

To affect her so, I should have said 
That, though she from herself conceal'd 

Love's felt delight and fancied harm. 
They made her face the jousting field 

Of joy and beautiful alarm. 



XII. 
THE ABDICATION. 



12 



THE ACCOMPANIMENTS. 
I. 

^he Chace, 

1. 

OHE wearies with an ill unknowrf ; 

In sleep she sobs and seems to float, 
A water-lily, all alone 

Within a lonely castle-moat; 
And as the full-moon, spectral, lies 

Within the crescent's gleaming arms, 
The present shows her heedless eyes 

A future dim with vague alarms : 
She sees, and yet she scarcely sees ; 

For, life-in-life not yet begun. 



i8o The Accompanimejits, 

Too many are life's mysteries 

For thought to fix 'tward any one. 

2. 

She's told that maidens are by youths 

Extremely honour'd and desired ; 
And sighs, "If those sweet tales be truths, 

What bliss to be so much admired ! " 
The suitors come ; she sees them grieve : . 

Her coldness fills them with despair : 
She'd pity if she could believe : 

She's sorry that she cannot care. 



Who's this that meets her on her way ? 

Comes he as enemy, or friend ; 
Or both ? Her bosom seems to say 

He cannot pass, and there an end. 
Whom does he love *? Does he confer 

His heart on worth that answers his ? 



I 



The Accompaniments. 181 

Perhaps he's come to worship her : 
She fears, she hopes, she thinks he is. 

4- 
Advancing stepless, quick, and still, 

As in the grass a serpent glides. 
He fascinates her fluttering will, 

Then terrifies with dreadful strides : 
At first, there's nothing to resist : 

He fights with all the forms of peace ; 
He comes about her like a mist, 

With subtle, swift, unseen increase ; 
And then, unlook'd for, strikes amain 

Some stroke that frightens her to death ; 
And grows all harmlessness again. 

Ere she can cry, or get her breath. 
At times she stops, and stands at bay ; 

But he, in all more strong than she. 
Subdues her with his pale dismay, 

Or more admired audacity. 



i82 The Accompaniments, 



5- 
All people speak of him with praise : 

How wise his talk; how sweet his tone; 
What manly worship in his gaze ! 

It nearly makes her heart his own. 
With what an air he speaks her name : 

His manner always recollects 
Her sex : and still the woman's claim 

Is taught its scope by his respects. 
Her charms, perceived to prosper first 

In his beloved advertencies, 
When in her glass they are rehearsed, 

Prove his most powerful allies. • 

6. 

Ah, whither shall a maiden flee, 

When a bold youth so swift pursues. 

And siege of tenderest courtesy. 

With hope perseverant, still renews ! 



The Accompaniments. 183 

Why fly so fast ? Her flatter'd breast 

Thanks him who finds her fair and good ; 
She loves her fears; veil'd joys arrest 

The fooHsh terrors of her blood : 
By secret, sweet degrees, her heart, 

Vanquish'd, takes warmth from his desire . 
She makes it more, with bashful art. 

And fuels love's late dreaded fire. 

7- 

The gallant credit he accords 

To all the signs of good in her. 
Redeems itself; his praiseful words 

What they attribute still confer. 
Her heart is thrice as rich in bliss, 

She's three times gentler than before : 
He gains a right to call her his. 

Now she through him is so much more ! 
Ah, might he, when by doubts aggrieved, 

Behold his tokens next her breast. 



184 The Accompaniments. 

At all his words and sighs perceived 
Against its blythe upheaval press'd. 

But still she flies : should she be won, 
It must not be believed or thought 

She yields : she's chased to death, undone, 
Surprised, and violently caught. 



The Accompaniments. 185 



11. 

^e Sentences. 

I. 
/TT^O love and want, ah, weal in woe ; 

-*^ To love and win, ah, woe in weal ; 
To feel so happy, and to know 

We're so much happier than we feel ! 

2. 

If I the first have bravely worn 
A Lady's scarf for singing-robe. 

May I, for my reward, be borne 
To earth like Henry Frauenlob. 



i86 The Accompaniments, 

3- 
Pure preludes of effectual peace 

Breathed 'mid the deafening din of war, 

When that and noisier songs decease, 

The world will love you more and more. 



IDYL XII. 

THE ABDICATION. 

1. 

TT^ROM little signs, like little stars, 

•*• Whose faint impression on the sense 

The very looking straight at mars. 

Or only seen by confluence ; 
From instinct of a mutual thought, 

Whence sanctity of manners flow'd ; 
From chance unconscious, and from what 

Concealment, overconscious, show'd; 
Her wrist's less weight upon my arm. 

Her lowlier mien ; that match'd with this ; 



i88 The Abdication, 

I found, and felt with strange alarm, 
I stood committed to my bliss. 

2. 

I grew assured, before I ask'd, 

That she'd be mine without reserve, 
And in her unclaim'd graces bask'd, 

At leisure, till the time should serve. 
With just enough of dread to thrill 

The hope, and make it trebly dear; 
Thus loath to speak the word to kill 

Either the hope or happy fear. 

3- 
Till once, through lanes returning late, 

Her laughing sisters lagg'd behind ; 
And, ere we reach'd her father's gate, 

We paused with one presentient mind ; 
And, in the dim and perfumed mist, 

Their coming stay'd, who, blythe and free, 



The Abdication. 189 

And very women, loved to assist 
A lover's opportunity. 

4- 
Twice rose, twice died my trembling word : ^ 

The faint and frail Cathedral chimes 
Spake time in music, and we heard 

The chafers rustling in the limes. 
Her dress, that touch'd me where I stood ; 

The warmth of her confided arm ; 
Her bosom's gentle neighbourhood ; 

Her pleasure in her power to charm ; 
Her look, her love, her form, her touch, 

The least seem'd most by blissful turn. 
Blissful but that it pleased too much, 

And taught the wayward soul to yearn. 
It was as if a harp with wires 

Was traversed by the breath I drew ; 
And, oh, sweet meeting of desires, 

She, answering, own'd that she loved too. 



.90 The Abdication. 



5- 
So Honor was to be my bride ! 

The hopeless heights of hope were scaled 
The summit won, I paused and sigh'd, 

As if success itself had fail'd : 
Assured of this surpassing hope, 

(Too great to humble or to hurt 
By any measuring of its scope 

With my most utter non-desert,) 
It seem'd as if my lips approach'd 

To touch at Tantalus' reward, 
And rashly on Eden life encroach'd, 

Half-blinded by the flaming sword. 

6. 
The whole world's wealthiest and its best. 

So fiercely follow'd, seem'd, when found. 
Poor in its need to be possess'd, 

Poor from its very want of bound. 



The Abdication. 191 

By that consenting scared and shock'd, 

Such change came o'er her mien and mood 
That I felt startled and half-mock'd 

As winning what I had not woo'd ; 
And my first motion was to disguise 

My heart's fantastical annoy, 
Lest she, discerning, should despise 

Its small capacity for joy. 

7- 
My queen was crouching at my side, 

By love unsceptred and brought low, 
Her awful garb of maiden pride 

All melted into tears like snow. 
The mistress of my reverent thought. 

Whose praise was all I ask'd of fame. 
In my close- watch'd approval sought 

Protection as from danger and blame. 
Her spirit, which I loved to invest, 

With pity for my poor desert. 



192 The Abdication, 

Buried its face within my breast, 
Like a pet fawn by hunters hurt 

8. 
Sweet are the flatteries of love : 

They neither would nor do deceive. 
Albeit they lift our hearts above 

All flatteries which our hearts believe : 
But this of making me her lord 

Appear'd such passionate excess, 
I almost wish'd her state restored, 

I almost wish'd she loved me less. 
I was abash'd, and look'd aside 

From honour I might not refuse, 
Until I saw my shame was pride, 

Since love in love discerns all dues. 
And never of lesser payment speaks, 

But loves to love for love's sole sake. 
And in its object only seeks 

That worth which love itself can wake. 



Tlie Abdication, 193 



9- 

Of this high truth intelligent, 

I buried soon, in the deep sea 
Of a most near and dear content, 

All pride and all humility : 
So she beside me sat her down, 

Excused from dignity and care, 
And I submitted to the crown 

No choice was left: me but to wear. 



13 



THE EPILOGUE. 



THE EPILOGUE. 

1. 
TTIS "Book the First" so finish'd, Vaughan, 
■*■ "*• Elated with his partner's praise, 
March'd laughing up and down the lawn, 

With brows that seem'd to feel the bays. 
She thought the Critics must admire 

What seem'd to her such lovely rhymes ! 
••' Nay," answer'd he, with rising ire, 

As boding "Blackwood" and " The Times," 
" A bard may reckon his degree 

" More high the more their welcome's foul ; 



198 The Epilogue. 

" For music's mystic property 

" Is to make dogs and critics howl. 
" I'm not a chartist or a lord; 

" To strut on stilts is not my use ; 
" And my vain claim to their good word 

" Is nothing but a noble Muse. — 
" But we'll not mind this modern curse 

" Of petty printing wits, who class 
" The pure gold of a perfect verse 

" Below like bulk of lacquer'd brass ! " 
Then, boasting Songs to come, he said 

The strains with which the next began 
Pass'd all he'd written yet ; and read 

The opening verses. Thus they ran : 

2. 
" 'Tis so beyond conceiving sweet 

" To love and be beloved in turn, 
" That lovers talk, whene'er they meet, 

" Only their joy to teach and learn. 



The Epilogue, 199 

" They tell how dearly they adore ; 

" Will not believe that they're believed ; 
*' And tell the tidings o'er and o'er, 

" And kiss to make their words conceived ; 
" And then take hands with sighs' soft speech, 

*' And tell the same sweet tale again ; 
" The same sweet mystery learn and teach ; 

" And kiss and kiss to make it plain. 
" Beloved tautologies of love ! 

" Which ever, ever both repeat ; 
" Which never, never seem to prove 

; " The point to either's fond conceit ; 
" Because, indeed, — " 

3- 

But here his Wife, 

All praise till now, objected : " This," 
Said she, " you did not take from life : 

" You should not make the lady kiss." 
The fault confess'd with light demur. 

Those lines he promised to remove, 



200 The Epilogue. 

Fixing in colloquy with her, 

As canons of their Court of Love : 

" Like and like chime, same and same jar : 
" If she to womanhood is true, 

*' To manhood he, their feelings are 

" In difference match'd, like red and blue." 

4- 
Then, pondering what the difference was, 

He ask'd her thrice if she'd be pleased 
To help his Muse : but she grew cross. 

And begg'd that she might not be teased. 
" Well, till you tell me freely why 

" You love me, you shall have no kiss ; 
" And so, till dinner-time, good-bye ! " 

Said he, sure to prevail by this. 
She : " Dearest, you'll not leave me so ! " 

He : " Give the reasons, one and all." 
She, laughing : " Love, I do not know, 

" Unless it is that you're so tall." 



The Epilogue. 201 

On tiptoe, then, she stood to touch 

His lips with her's, but three times miss'd. 
And pouted. " Nay, then, tell how much ? " 

" How can I, if you'll not be kiss'd ?" 
Baffled, he thought the difference o'er ; 

Soon smiled, and said he knew it well : 
But, good World, Love shows Poets more 

Than you deserve that they should tell. 



END OF THE BETROTHAL. 



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September, 1858. 



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